but who doesn't? That's all I'm gonna say about that.
Yeah so on Monday, I left my really swell job at the Agency, on time even and proceeded to drive away and leave thoughts of getting stabbed, assaulted, raped, struck by urine/excrement & a whole bunch of other nasty shit behind. The F1 was primed and ready to do some serious summer driving. However since the sun has not shown its face since Paleolithic cave paintings were the "in thing" that was not going to happen.
As far as I am concerned, the Sun is fucking fired. I have been talking to friends on both coasts and in that weird place known as the midwest and not a one has seen the sun in what seems like 200 years.
Even though I don't do well in the hotter weather, I would like to remember what hot feels like.
Oh yeah, back to my story. So instead of driving all over God's green Earth, in the hopes of unwinding before going home to pay bills and read jumk mail, I decided to go and get a Vanilla Bean Coffee Coolatta. It's no secret this fat kid is addicted to Dunkin Donuts. I think I was a cop in a former life, that would explain why I am burning off a ton of bad karma in this one. Anywho...the line both inside the store and in the drive through was longer than Wilt Chamberlain's hog.
"What the fuck?!" escaped some severly clenched and grinding teeth. I don't think it too much to ask that when a guy gets out of work, he can go and get a tasty beverage without the hassle of having to wait in historically amazing lines. I passed on the Dunk and kept on driving. I stopped about 50 yards later at the home of the dirtiest/shittiest used cd store ever, Musik Magik.
I know its not supposed to be spelled that way, but the creton that runs the place likes to appeal to all cliques and doesn't want to exclude our goth friends or kids who think they want to be sorcerers or enchantresses when they grow up.
So I walk in and of course there are just 3 foot stacks of shit all over the place: vhs tapes, cassette tapes, original nintendo cartridges and just shit that not even Wilhelmina H. Packrat is going to give a fiddeler's fart about. I cut to the chase and went straight to the shelves on the wall in hopes of finding something to entertain me. I looked through everything at least once and was stunned there were so many bands that I had never heard of. I mean there were fucking row after row of shit I couldn't even dream of. I was starting to feel like I was going to get skunked on the cd scene to until I found, "Take Back the Universe and Give Me Yesterday" by Creeper Lagoon.
I know, I know it's obscure and you have no idea who they are but I dig em and it was a gem of a find for $6.00. I was in the process of searching for maybe one or two other discs but of course my funtime was cut short cause I was hit with an unexpected case of bungsoon. For those not in the know, bungsoon means I had to pay for my disc and leave immediately if not sooner, otherwise there was going to be a huge shitstorm in my pants.
I brought my treasure to the counter and now John Q. Sample, with the huge fucking head, is going to try and small talk the shit right out of me.
I was starting to sweat but a gentleman always keeps his cool even under pressure. I mean what the fuck right? I have people try to kill me on a daily basis, buying a cd from a really nice, stupid guy without shitting my pants should be no problem.
"I've never heard of this band are they any good?" he asks with a glint of the Devil in his eye. "They're a really obscure indie band that never took off but I really dig them" I say having to do a massive ass clench to stop shit-hose #1 from painting the back wall of the store.
I'm losing my patience and Herman's Head looks like he's sad there is a $6.00 sticker on it. He looks like he wants the sticker to read $18.99 like this was Strawberries or Sam Goodie or some other fucking corporate evil. He seems like he is going to pull some fucking asshole move like, "you can only buy this if you also buy Trixter's Greatest Shits."
I am getting a charley horse in my ass cause I have been clenching so hard for so long, I'm pretty sure I'm not going to be able to walk out of cat piss central. I give him the, "you are going to let me out of here with this cd for the sticker price or I am going shove that coleco-vision game console so far up your ass, Monty Hall is going to come out of the back room and dance a funny little jig" look.
He knows something is up and that I mean business. We do the goods for money exchange and I hobble out the door like my shoes are connected with an iron bar. He's watching me through the window, like I cheated him out of his prize marble collection. I'm tempted to give him the finger but I fear any quick motions will trigger an eruption of the anal nature.
I fire the engines on the F1 and cruise back up the street. Approaching Dunkin Donuts my stomach makes a noise somewhat akin to a goat yawn and for the time being, the pressure in my ass has been put in check.
With the precision of a nascar champ, I pull into the drive thru, order my coolatta and am back on the road in less than 2 minutes. I arrived home and was able to walk into the house before I was struck with another case of butt clench. What I forgot was when you don't eat anything with fat in it, your ass becomes a salad shooter.....fantastic.
In one matrix-like move, I was able to jump to the bathroom, whip off my droors and have a mass evac with no serious consequences other than sore ass muscles. It's always a good idea to keep some reading material on hand and I was glad I had something. Had I been better prepared, I would have left my cd player in the bathroom and been dropping some science to the sweet sounds of Creeper Lagoon.
I hope you all are well.